


When You Tear it All Apart, it's Just DNA.

by Gizmodo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Depression, F/F, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wanderlust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-15 02:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5768197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gizmodo/pseuds/Gizmodo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What do you do when your life has been turned upside down over and over? Run away to another country, of course.</p>
<p>At least, that's the new solution Clarke Griffin has for herself. And, who knows, maybe she'll find what she's looking for in the Land Down Under.</p>
<p>Or, perhaps, she'll find more than what she's looking for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Tear it All Apart, it's Just DNA.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a prologue and the writing style in it is different than how the rest of the story is written... I'm not sure why I did it this way - it just kind of happened and I liked it; hope you guys like it, too. I'm not sure how often I'll update this, but I just recently was re-inspired to keep writing the draft, so fingers crossed.
> 
> Also, TRIGGER WARNINGS:
> 
> Mentions of/allusions to alcoholism, drug abuse, depression, anxiety, suicide, familial death, cheating.

**Prologue**

 

Life is constantly changing. It’s unpredictable and often times incredibly messy, but it can be absolutely wonderful, too. 

 

For you, though… well, it hasn’t been wonderful for you in a very, very long time.

 

==       ==

 

It’s been five years since you last left the country on one of your family’s famous “Griffin Getaways”. 

Four and half since your father - the person you were closest to in the world - was brutally murdered right before your eyes. 

Three since you found out Finn - your boyfriend of four years and fiancé of one - was a perpetual cheater. 

Two since severe depression and anxiety caused you to drop out of Johns Hopkins a semester shy of graduating top of your class.

 

One year and ten months since you lost yourself at the bottom of an expensive bottle that smelled a little like regret and tasted a lot like suffering.

 

==       ==

 

After your father’s… “untimely demise”, what once was a tight-knit family of three rapidly became nothing more than two people who grudgingly shared a genetic code and a similar ache in their hearts. 

 

To escape the pain of loss, your mother became wholly engrossed with her work - constantly taking on extra shifts and surgeries - and you… well, you ended up becoming a huge disappointment to her; something Doctor Abigail Paige Griffin, M.D. makes you all too aware of every time you two speak. 

Which is rarely. 

And, typically, only on holidays.

If she isn’t already working.

(She usually is.)

 

It stopped bothering you awhile ago.

(At least, that’s what you tell yourself.)

 

==       ==

 

You’ve lost count of all the nightmares and sleepless nights you’ve had since you witnessed your father’s death.

You’ve lost count of all the nameless men and women who have warmed your bed since you called it off with Finn. 

You’ve lost count of all the calls and texts from your friends (your loving, caring, _wonderful_ friends that you don’t think you deserve) that you’ve left unanswered.

 

 

You lose count again and again because if you did keep count of those things, 

you would feel all the overwhelming pain and guilt associated with the numbers,

when you’d rather feeling nothing at all. 

 

So, you forget. 

You lose count.

 

You do what you must…

…to survive.

 

==       ==

 

There is one thing that you have kept count of, however:

 

three hundred and sixty-two.

 

The number of days since you last consumed alcohol. 

The number of days since you accidentally swallowed a few too many pills. 

The number of days since you hit absolute rock bottom and almost died in Bellamy’s and Octavia’s arms.

 

==       ==

 

**_Correction:_ **

Technically, you did die once in their arms. 

(Asphyxia.)

And again in the ambulance.

(Cardiac arrest.)

 

And Octavia’s first words to you when she was finally allowed into your hospital room,

big brother in tow?

 

**“You know… all things considered, you look pretty hot for someone who was just resurrected from the dead.”**

 

You laughed. Hard. 

And it hurt. A lot. 

But the pain was a good kind of pain - a different kind of pain from the pain you had been inflicting upon yourself. It was a reminder that, even though you had made mistakes - were still making mistakes -, you were _alive_ and _loved;_ a fact that you seemed to have forgotten until that moment.

 

And Bellamy - your big teddy bear, Bellamy - simply sat next to your bed quietly.

He tried and failed miserably to hide his tears

as he lovingly stroked your hair,

your face,

your arm,

your hand.

(And he did it all with so much tender affection, despite how much pain you had caused him - and Octavia -, that you feared your heart might seize again and stop for good this time.)

 

(And yeah, you definitely think you don’t deserve friends like the Blakes, but you are more than thankful that you have them anyway.)


End file.
